


peace on earth and mercy mild

by Lexie



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-08
Updated: 2010-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/pseuds/Lexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana has a plan, but it's proving to be a lot more difficult (and involve a lot more bribes) to get Brittany as her secret Santa than she'd originally expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	peace on earth and mercy mild

**Author's Note:**

> Written before "A Very Glee Christmas" aired, so this is technically AU now. For tinylegacies on LJ.

Santana matter-of-factly plants herself in front of the new girl, hands on her hips, and she says, "Okay, Mickey Rourke, give it to me, and make it fast. The longer I have to talk to you, the higher my chance of catching whatever it is that makes you so--" Santana wings a hand in a circle in the general direction of Zizes's face, and then she expressively rolls her eyes.

Zizes stares at her. "Give it to you," she repeats, clearly annoyed. Like Santana cares.

Santana huffs a sharp exhalation and grits, "I know you got Brittany for glee Secret Santa."

( _"What the crap am I supposed to do with this?" Zizes asked loudly, amidst the general buzz of everybody gloating or complaining about their assigned recipients. "I don't think she can even read."_ )

Santana pulls her own assignment card out of her binder, and she shoves it at Zizes. "Fork it over and we can both pretend this conversation never happened," she says, faux-sweet to the point where it's very clear that she would rather be running endless suicides under Coach Sylvester's borderline-homicidal direction than having this conversation.

Zizes doesn't fork it over. She stands there in the hall for several seconds, and her eyes take on an ominous light behind her ugly glasses. "What's in it for me?"

"I don't come after you," Santana snaps, her ponytail swaying with the vehemence of her head movement. " _That's_ what you get, freakazoid."

"I'd put you in a double leghook folding pin before you could take half a step," Zizes scoffs, and then she smiles, smug and self-satisfied. "You're going to make a trade worth my while."

She folds her arms over her midriff, pressing her binder in close. "What," Santana says darkly, "do you want?"

Zizes tells her.

Santana's eyebrows are up very, very high. "I'm not the head Cheerio anymore, chuckles," she objects, incredulous. "I don't _have_ that kind of pull."

"That's too bad," says Lauren, closing her hand around her backpack strap and making like she's going to step around Santana. "Then I hold onto your girlfriend."

Her hands instinctively clench into fists, tucked against her arms. " _She's not_ \--" Then she sees just how delighted Zizes looks, like she's ready to start snarfing popcorn and watch Santana pitch a fit, and she reins herself in and snaps, "Fine. Whatever. I'll make it happen." She holds out a demanding hand, and Zizes unzips her backpack, digs around, and comes out with a blue index card.

"Do you _really_ think I'm going to trust you?"

Zizes is a giant pain in the ass, but she's pretty sharp, Santana has to admit. "Look, sunshine," she snaps. "I'm a bitch, but I do what I say I'm going to do. I'm _going_ to make it happen."

She studies Santana, beady-eyed, for a second before she plucks Santana's card out of her hand and passes over her own. "Tuesday," Zizes says, falling into the general flow of pedestrian traffic as she walks past Santana down the hall. "Be there."

By the time that Santana reads the name on the card in her hand and then shoves the nearest freshman in sudden fury, Zizes is long gone.

* * *

It takes a round of enraged shouting -- and agreeing to another round of teeth-grittingly shameful demands -- before Santana gets the truth out of Zizes.

"I _had_ her," Zizes says, apparently totally unconcerned by just how badly Santana wants to rip her head off. "Then the midget paid me off to trade."

"Berry," growls Santana, and she stalks out of the choir room. She nearly smacks right into Sam on her way out.

He says, " _Whoa_ ," putting his hands up, and he's holding a blue card in one of them. Santana snatches it, slaps her card (the one with _ARTIE_ printed in big block letters) into his chest, and continues on her way.

When she looks at her new card in the hall, she very nearly screams.

If Santana winds up _actually_ having to get something for Zizes, she's going to stuff two sticks of deodorant in a stocking and call it good.

* * *

"I don't know what you want from me," Berry says stiffly, rooting around in her locker. "I've already told you; disclosing the identity of my intended recipient is _completely_ counter to the spirit of the holiday gift exchange."

"I want to _know_ ," Santana says, leaning against the bank of lockers beside Berry's and affecting an air of boredom as she picks at her nails, "if you have Brittany, man-hands."

"I don't understand why you even care," Berry's voice prattles on, but coldly; she's made no secret of the fact that she hates Santana, ever since the big breakup with Finnocence. Not that Santana cares. The feeling is mutual. "You've very clearly been spending less time with Brittany ever since she started dating Artie."

"They broke up," Santana reminds her sharply, breaking all pretense at being unconcerned.

Berry sticks her head out of the locker; her mouth is tight and disapproving. "I don't have Brittany any more," she says. "I surmised that Quinn had Finn--"

(" _Oh," said Quinn flatly, sitting in the front row and staring at the card in her hand, "you have_ got _to be kidding me."_ )

"--and she wouldn't welcome who _I_ had, so I orchestrated a trade with Lauren so that I could turn around and rescue Finn's name from Quinn."

Santana frowns. The only person that Tubbers would want even less than her ex-boyfriend is her ex-baby daddy, and if that's true, Santana should have gotten Puck from the trade with Horseface Zizes, not Artie. "Oh, right, 'rescue,' " she sneers. "Like you're some humanitarian. I don't think a Secret Santa present is gonna get you back in your ex's giant pants any faster. And don't lie to me, hobbit."

"It's a _winter holiday gift exchange_ , not 'Secret Santa,' and I'm not a liar," Rachel snaps, and then she slams her locker shut and angrily flounces off.

* * *

Berry's not a liar, but Quinn is. She's apparently still pissed about Santana taking every possible opportunity to undermine her authority in the Cheerios, because Quinn tells Santana that she traded Brittany's card to Jones, who is currently staring at Santana like she's crazy.

"Um, no," says Mercedes. "I _wish_ I had Brittany; I got stuck with Rachel, okay?" (Santana pulls an immediate, instinctive face.) "I've been trying to get people to trade with me for _days_."

"That _liar_ ," Santana breathes, more to herself than to Mercedes. It's begrudgingly admiring. For all her goody two shoes image, Quinn Fabray always _was_ the one person in this school who could manipulate and connive in the same league as Santana.

"Not that I care," says Mercedes, shutting her eyes for a second and then opening them again, "but what the _hell_ 's the matter with you? You're going so crazy over this whole secret Santa thing that you're actually repeating insults, and not even the good ones."

Santana shoots her an unimpressed glare. "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

Mercedes looks at her across the cafeteria table. There is a disconcertingly, disgustingly obvious level of pity in her expression. Santana fights the urge to throw her protein shake in Jones's face. "I can't _believe_ I'm even getting myself involved in this, but you should just tell her how you feel," she says, and Santana remembers all too late that Mercedes was her duets partner and they spent a whole lot of rehearsal time together back when she'd first been seething with silent jealousy over Brittany getting with Artie.

Santana should have a witty, scathing comeback for that, but she's frozen instead.

Mercedes takes in her expression, and she says, "If you're still looking for who's got her, try Mike." There's a beat, and then she adds wryly, "This is the _least_ secret Secret Santa ever."

Santana tells Mercedes to suck it, Aretha, and storms out of the cafeteria with a spring in her step.

* * *

"I ... don't think you're supposed to be in here..." Mike says uneasily, towel wrapped around his hips as he stands in front of the locker room bench.

Santana ignores the weak protest (and the approving catcalls she's getting from half-dressed football players as they pass); she just purses her lips and whistles. "Gothika is one lucky lady," she says, giving Chang an appreciative glance up and down, and Mike makes that face that is probably supposed to be a frown but always just makes him look like a puppy, and he pulls his T-shirt on over his head.

"What do you want, Santana?" he asks, tugging the hem down and hiding all that abtastic glory.

Santana momentarily considers getting her sexy on and trying to seduce the information out of him, then decides that that's more likely to piss him off or scare him away -- Mike is one of the _very_ few guys she has ever taken an unsuccessful run at, and he's bizarrely devoted to girlfriend with the blue hair -- than actually get anything useful out of him.

She goes with direct. "Do you have Brittany?" she asks.

"...What?" Mike sounds scandalized.

Santana rolls her eyes. "For Secret Santa; do you have Brittany?"

"No," says Mike, and Santana makes a wordless frustrated noise and turns to go. "I mean, I _did_ \--" and just like that, Santana turns back around, ponytail whipping with the movement, "--but..." He stops, pulling a dubious face. "Mr. Schue said not to tell anybody who we had."

"Mr. Schue also said not to trade," Santana says pointedly. Everybody's pretty used to ignoring Mr. Schue by now; Glee has been like a flea market of whispered bargains ever since they picked names. Santana happens to know that Artie has been frantically trying to get rid of whoever he has. Her bet would have been on ex-girlfriend Brittany, if she didn't know that other people had Brit's name while he's been begging; instead, Santana would lay money on the table that Artie has Mike.

Sometimes, glee is like a really crappy soap opera with singing and dancing.

"Right," Mike admits. "Well, I, uh, kind of already traded."

Of course he did.

"Fine," says Santana, glaring. "Who has her now?"

"I had to trade with Quinn, because Puck didn't want--" Mike eyes her. "...who I originally had, and then I gave him Brittany's name so I could get Tina."

"Adorable," Santana drawls, rolling her eyes so hard that it's almost a surprise they don't come right out of her head, and she goes to find her former fuck buddy.

* * *

"No," says Puck, loading meatloaf surprise onto his tray.

"You don't even know who I have," Santana says, exasperated, following him through the lunch line with her blue card in hand, " _or_ what I'm offering you."

"No way," Puck says, piling dinner rolls on top of the meatloaf. It could violate the terms of his probation if he gets caught chucking rolls at freshmen running around the track during gym class, like he used to, but Santana figures that collecting ammunition is a habit for him. "Brittany's the easiest assignment ever; I could give her a shoebox and tell her it's full of invisible puppies and she'd be happy."

Santana stops dead in the line as Puck keeps moving down, and then she snatches a rock-solid roll out of the pile and she wings it off Puck's head.

" _What?_ " he demands, shooting her an outraged look. "I thought quitting sexting with you would get me _out_ of this kind of crap." Santana takes some measure of satisfaction in the fact that he's rubbing the back of his head, clearly in pain. " _Damn_ , woman!"

"Look," Santana says, dogging his steps as Puck waits til the lunch lady is glancing in the other direction, then walks through the turnstile without paying, "I'll make this easy for you." She puts on her most charming, most promising, most lewd smile (it's a _good_ smile; one that rarely fails to get Santana exactly what she wants), and she turns the wattage way up. They're standing in the middle of the cafeteria. Zizes walks by, looking pleased with herself and carrying a paper bag; she has probably continued to bribe her way through even more Secret Santa trades. Santana would probably be doing the same, if she wasn't ruthlessly pursuing a goal without giving herself time to stop and think about it.

"You do this for me, and I'll let _you_ ," she runs two fingers down Puck's bicep and makes sure that her Cheerios jacket is hanging open in the perfect position to frame her super hot new boobs, "cop a squeeze in the janitor's closet on the third floor."

They've done this enough times now for Santana to recognize that slow grin of Puck's for what it is -- and then it suddenly shifts into a wary stare. "So, what, you blow off blowing me for weeks, and suddenly we're back on just so you can have an excuse to get your girl a present?"

"Uh, _yes_ ," Santana says, frowning at him like it's obvious, because it is. They've always done this; been mercenary, got what they wanted out of each other. She shoots him a _what the hell's the matter with you; what are you, a girl?_ face.

"I'm Puckasaurus," he says scornfully, spreading his hands wide and snagging a spork off the nearby Jewfro's tray. "I don't have to bribe chicks to get a handful." He reaches into his back pocket, then shoves a blue card into her hand and takes hers. "Happy Hanukkah," he grunts to Santana, and he slams Jewfro with his shoulder as he passes.

* * *

The chorus room is totally decked out in Christmas decorations (according to Mr. Schuester, "winter holiday interior design"), with lights strung up, the whole nine yards. There's a tiny Christmas tree on the piano alongside a menorah.

( _"Mr. Schuester, I have to insist on equal representation for myself and No--" To her credit, Rachel glanced across the room when she was halfway through Puck's name, got a look at Hudson's tight expression, and went in a different direction. "--for the students in this club who don't celebrate Christmas."_

 _Puck raised his hand and said, "I'm all about presents."_ )

It's a good thing Hummel isn't around for all this tree-lighting and caroling, Santana thinks; he'd probably Scrooge it up and pitch a hissy and ruin it for everybody.

"Okay," says Mr. Schuester, laughing along with everybody else as they whoop and jump around after a spirited mash-up of "Deck the Halls" and "Up on the Rooftop," "okay, okay! Do we have everything under the tree?"

Berry clears her throat really loudly.

"--The tree and the menorah," Mr. Schue amends. Rachel beams approvingly. "Everybody in?"

There's a flurry of movement out of the corner of Santana's eye; she glances over and watches Puck look thoughtful, then pull out a crumpled blue card, steal Tina's pen, and scrawl something on the back. He walks over and shoves it under the tree.

"It looks like I've got something for--" Mr. Schue grabs a box off the piano; it's the neatest wrapping job Santana has ever seen in her life, shiny silver paper with a perfect red bow. "--Mercedes!"

Mercedes starts laughing as she comes forward. "I recognize that paper _and_ the bow technique," she says. "You got some help from home, huh, Finn?"

Hudson pulls a shady face. "No..." he says guiltily.

"Come on, guys, come on come on." Mr. Schue waves his arm in a broad beckoning gesture. "Everybody come on down and find the present with their name on it." He doesn't have to ask twice; the whole group swarms around the piano, laughing and chattering. Santana keeps an eye on Brittany, but Brit's happily talking with Mike toward the back of the group, and then Santana is distracted by Quinn shoving a package into her hands.

"Merry Christmas," Quinn says darkly.

Santana stares at her, blank-faced. "You've got to be kidding."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" Quinn is definitely not laughing. That's a super cranky expression.

( _"I had to trade with Quinn, because Puck didn't want ... who I originally had," Mike said awkwardly._ )

"Why the _hell_ would you agree to take my name?" Santana asks, staring at her. "Did the pregnancy hormones rot your brain?"

Quinn glares, then blows out a breath. "Mike begged, he promised me choreography help whenever I ask for it, and he _really_ wanted Tina; it was sweet." Whatever Mike got for Tina, it's clearly a hit; Tina is squealing something in the background. Santana doesn't let up with her disbelieving look. Quinn sighs and waves a hand in a delicate, practiced gesture. Her voice drops and she rolls her eyes. "Plus, it's Christmas. Or whatever."

"Whatever," Santana repeats, and determinedly doesn't think about when they sort of used to be friends. They awkwardly glance away from each other, which is how Santana spots the moment when Lauren Zizes reads what's on the blue index card with her name on it, then slowly lowers it to peer over the top at Puck. He shrugs at her, raising a questioning eyebrow (Santana knows that unconcerned face); Zizes looks like she's hiding a smirk behind the card as she raises a hand and wiggles her fingers at him and then winks, and Puck leers at her.

Santana glances at Quinn, and finds a twin disgusted look on her face.

"My boy _definitely_ picked this," Mercedes is saying, and she and Tina are giggling over whatever it is; Weezie obviously likes it, though, because she's smiling at Finn. _Everybody's_ smiling, tearing at paper and reading cards and laughing at each other and hugging. Sam apparently got Artie some kind of Nerf slingshot, because Artie's wheeling after him and pelting him with styrofoam as they both laugh and Quinn pulls a tolerant face. Santana should probably feel super Grinchy about all of this, but when she looks for Brittany in the chaos, she finds her standing at the piano, flat wrapped package in her hands.

Santana isn't nervous. She's Santana Lopez, bitch. She doesn't get nervous.

Brittany rips the paper off the CD and stares at it. She's looking at the front; Santana knows because she can read the track listings from here. Brittany's eyebrows are furrowed in a confused frown, and she slowly turns the CD case over.

Santana can tell the exact moment that Brittany sees the name of track #3. She knows because Brittany's head comes up and she immediately starts looking around, and Santana pushes past Berry and Hudson's grossly awkward, halting conversation (as far as Santana can tell, the first they've had since Puckleberry v2.0 exploded) and over to the piano.

"You're my winter holiday gift giver," Brittany says, a little blankly, clutching Melissa Etheridge's "Yes I Am" tightly in her hand.

"I don't care what they think," Santana says, with all the fierce attitude she has in her. "I don't care what they say." Then she adds her own lyrics: "They can bite me." Brittany's Brittany, but even she gets that one; her face slowly lights up and her smile is enormous and genuine and a whole lot sharper than most people would give her credit for. Santana holds out her hand, pinkie extended, and Brittany loops her little finger through Santana's.

 _Go to hell, losers_ , Santana thinks in the general direction of this entire high school, and she tangles all of her fingers with Brittany's.

"Don't think any of this means you're getting out of your promise," Zizes warns Santana in passing.

About ten seconds later, Puck saunters out into the hall after her, nonchalant hands in his pockets.

Santana is going to throw up all over both of them.

Later. When Brittany isn't beaming and swinging their hands together.

* * *

On the Tuesday before Christmas vacation ("winter break," according to the school schedule), the Cheerios run up and down the sidelines cheering for the William McKinley High School wrestling team, who look thoroughly startled by the unprecedented attention.

Santana does it flatly, rolling her eyes the whole time, but -- as promised -- she leads a cheer specifically directed at Zizes. Bitch looks way too smug for a big girl in a unitard, Santana thinks, begrudgingly admiring. Then Brittany bumps into her, shouting "mice-ease" to rhyme with Lauren's last name, and Santana smirks to herself and gently bumps back.


End file.
